


A Lapse of Judgement and Its Consequences

by Fox_In_A_Box



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Introspection, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 22:23:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20235340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_In_A_Box/pseuds/Fox_In_A_Box
Summary: In which the Count persuades his beloved Consul to take a stroll in the gardens with him and Valerius hasn't yet learned to say no to Lucio.





	A Lapse of Judgement and Its Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this one-shot all in one go and I’m kinda scared of myself now because it’s been ages since something like that happened. I blame the only two chapters of Lucio’s route we have and the writers of the game who literally had no right turning this asshole into a genuinely lovable character. But they did, so here we are.

Lucio stomps out of the ballroom, heavy doors closing behind him to cut him off from the cheerful music playing on the other side.

As he's crossing the corridor, his shoulder - the golden one, with the attachments for his prosthetic limb - crashes into an unsuspecting guest coming towards him from the opposite direction. The glass shatters the moment it hits the floor, shards skittering all over the polished marble and the leftover wine splashing on the carpet.

Lucio turns around, ready to lash out the unlucky guest who has had the audacity to stand in his way. "Hey! Watch where you're--"

The sentence is left hanging. A flicker of recognition in his eyes and the outraged sneer is replaced by a whole new different expression. Softer than it has any right to be on the face of a man who has killed and conquered to cover himself and the city of Vesuvia with glory.

"Val," the tone of his voice drops to an almost-drawl. The corner of his lips curls up in what can only be described as a sultry smile. "I've been looking for you."

Just _Val_. Not his first name, never his first name. Not even in front of the other courtiers, who whisper and snicker behind his back thinking he doesn't hear them. If someone at the palace still hasn't caught up with what's going on between their beloved Count and his favourite Consul, they soon will. Nadia, for one, already has. And she has made sure to tell him personally, after summoning him for a private audience. Told him she can't be bothered with her husband's amorous escapades as long as they don't keep him away from his duties and advised him not to let Lucio's bad influence get the better of him, all with no shortage of embarrassment on both sides and a good amount of wine to help the conversation along.

Valerius arches an eyebrow, not even bothering to hide his skepticism. "Forgive me if I don't believe you, my Lord."

Lucio seems unfazed by his stern response. He brings a hand to his chest in a theatrical display of despair. "Really? You wound me!"

"Who has put you into such a foul mood, this time?"

"The ambassadors from Prakra. They do nothing but blabber about our alliance and how it's our duty to assist them, now that they're facing the risk of a famine. As if we had any food to spare, with the Masquerade approaching!" Lucio rolls his eyes. More like a child throwing a tantrum than a ruler lamenting the state of his external affairs. "I left Noddy to deal with them."

"Then I should join her to offer my advice during the negotiations," Valerius says. "If you'll excuse me."

He walks past Lucio, ignoring the offended look the Count casts him. For a brief moment he hopes Lucio will leave him be and take out his boredom on someone else, any other courtier who's not currently busy welcoming the Prakrian delegation, or even a servant who will be forced to put up with his master's whims lest he is promptly fired. Or worse. But alas, he doesn't manage to cross the entire corridor before it's too late. Lucio's voice reaches him anyway and there's little he can do to pretend he hasn't heard him.

"You could do that," he replies. "Or, you could join me for a lovely evening walk in the gardens and save yourself the trouble of listening to a group of foreign noblemen playing the victims for hours on end. My wife can handle herself just fine, we both know it."

Valerius hesitates. He doesn't need to turn around to know Lucio's blood red eyes are fixed on his back, waiting for an answer. Waiting for him to give in, like he always does, in spite of his better judgement. It should be easy to say no. One word, two letters. Valerius has lost count of the times he has refused to indulge the foolish demands of many people in the palace, unmoving in his resolve. And yet it's always so, so hard when it's Lucio asking the question.

"I suppose a bit of fresh air won't kill me."

Lucio's smile has grown into a full-fledged grin by the time he turns around to face him once more. "That's what I like about you, Val. In the end, you always make the right choice."

Valerius harbours some doubts about that, but for the time being he decides not to voice them.

The night is charming when contemplated from the luxuriant gardens of the palace, that much he can't deny. He's sure he would appreciate the sight even more, were it not for Lucio's incessant rambling. But beggars can't be choosers. After all, it's easy enough just to hum and nod in all the right places to let him know he's listening and Lucio will be happy enough to speak for the both of them. It's a technique he has perfected in years of service, to the point that he can tell who or what Lucio is mumbling about by simply catching a few disconnected pieces of his monologue. Sometimes he even dares make a comment or ask a question, if only to see Lucio's eyes light up in excitement for the attention bestowed upon him.

Tonight, Valerius lets him vent out his frustrations for a little longer than usual, before offering his input. When he does, the Count has changed the topic of his one-sided conversation three times already: his annoyance towards the ambassadors soon forgotten in favour of a lengthy critique of the roasted duck he has had for dinner first, and then of bemoaning of the ineptitude of his own officers.

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I was of the impression that you chose Vulgora as your Pontifex specifically because of their warmongering attitude?" He asks, as they make their way towards the marble fountain towering in the middle of the garden. He has to raise his voice to overcome the sound of the splashing water.

"Oh, they're good fun in the battlefield alright," Lucio says. "But have you ever tried having a civil conversation with them?"

"Unfortunately," Valerius sighs, recalling the too many times he has ever had to listen to the absurdities spewing from the mouth of his colleague.

He sits down on the edge of the fountain, resting his legs from the short walk. How long has it been since the last time he has had proper exercise, outside of going back and forth from the seemingly endless halls and corridors of the palace? Lucio doesn't share his concern, apparently, as he makes no move to join him. He remains on his feet in front of him as he keeps on talking.

"They're insufferable! Always pestering me about our next military campaigns, sometimes even less than a week after we've come back home. And when they're not begging me to help him practice their sword fighting skills, they boast about how many heads they've busted, how many throats they've slit, how many soldiers they've trampled under the hooves of their horse. Boring!"

The hypocrisy in Lucio's words is almost comical. Valerius can't help but chuckle at the Count despising in others the very same qualities that make him detestable at the eyes of some of his subjects. Then again, maybe it's precisely because of his ego that he can't tolerate someone else stealing the spotlight. Lucio offers him a quizzical look, so he elaborates. "I recall you doing the exact same thing whenever you want to impress a newcomer at the palace."

"That, my friend, is where you're wrong," Lucio says, pointing a clawed finger at his chest. "Vulgora only cares about shedding as much blood as they can. They have no taste for the finer things that come with a victory: the cries of triumph of your men, the fear and awe in the eyes of your opponent, all your enemies falling to their knees before you."

And before Valerius can even try to stop him, he's jumping up the marble edge of the fountain in a single, sleek movement. He mimics the act of unsheathing a sword and adjusting his stance to prepare for the fight with an invisible enemy. "Have I ever told you about that time I faced off against the infamous Scourge of the South?"

"I was there," Valerius reminds him.

Lucio grins down at him. "Of course you were! Then you remember how fierce I was in the arena. The poor bastard tried to get at me but oh, he was so slow! Every time his weapon came down on me, it hit nothing but sand. I was already out of the way, running circles around him and striking when he least expected it. What a day that was! The entire arena cheering for me, shouting my name and demanding I finish him! But I didn't, of course. I'm a merciful man."

He re-enacts the duel as he speaks. He jumps forwards and slides backwards, some sort of complicated dance on the edge of the fountain that more than once brings him mere inches from falling into the cold water. But he never does.

Valerius finds himself staring at him, caught up in a strange feeling of fascination that he struggles to explain, even to himself. There's something enticing in the way he moves, sure on his feet and deadly like a wild predator trying a lunge at an unseen prey, then turning on his heels to deliver a sideways slash at the throat of a sudden threat approaching at his back. There's an elegance to him, even when he's only pretending. He will never admit it out loud, but credit must be given when credit is due.

For a while, Valerius forgets about the beauty of the nature surrounding him, and just watches. His eyes follow Lucio's steps, noticing a new detail every so often - a stray blond curl falling in front of his forehead, the way the fur on his cloak bristles in the warm summer breeze. Once his pantomime is over, Lucio lets himself drop down next to him, head tilted back to look at the cloudless sky.

"I wonder if he would be persuaded to come back to the Coliseum for a re-match. I've heard he retired from the fights to live in the woods, or something like that. Can't be that comfortable." The musing requires no response, so Valerius doesn't offer him one.

They both gaze at the stars flickering above them in silence. It's hard to tell how much time has passed when the brief brush of Lucio's shoulder against his brings him back to himself. As unexpectedly pleasant as the evening stroll with the Count has turned out to be, he can't be away from the palace much longer. Another glass of wine to give himself strength, or maybe two, then he'll be ready to face whatever the Vesuvian court and its honourable guests have in store for him.

"I'd better go back inside," he says. "You too, my Lord."

He makes to sit up, but he's immediately stopped. Lucio's fingers close around his wrists, a silent offer Valerius knows he can refuse. If Lucio had meant it to be an order he would have reached out with his other hand instead, letting the sharp claws of his gauntlet press down on his skin in an implied threat. But he lets his sound hand make the request, and that's possibly even worse.

Had he been forceful, Valerius could have used it as an excuse, convinced himself that he never was in the position to disobey a direct order from the Count and the prospect of spending the rest of the night with him is no doubt better than the death sentence that awaits anyone who displeases him. But as thing stand, there's nothing he can do to pretend he isn't willing - no, that he isn't _craving _the feel of Lucio's skin on his.

"We both have duties to attend to," Valerius tries, but one look at his face tells him he won't be dissuaded by such a pathetic attempt at resisting his advances.

"Always so thoughtful," Lucio purrs. "Maybe I ought to reward you."

"The best reward I can think of right now is for a nice bottle of red wine to be delivered to my chambers."

Lucio barks out a laugh, so loud not even the noise of the water cascading down the fountain can drown. "Let me give you a better idea, then."

The moment Lucio's lips are on his, Valerius knows there's no going back.

It takes longer than he had anticipated for them to reach the Count's bedroom. And it's all Lucio's fault, of course. He likes to tease him, play with him like a cat playing with the mouse before tearing it apart with its claws.

Out of the blue, Lucio stops him in the middle of an empty hall just to corner him against the wall and kiss him until they both run out of breath, uncaring for the danger of being discovered by a servant hurrying from the kitchen or by a wandering guest who has lost their way to the ballroom.

Valerius can't help but wonder if Lucio_ likes_ the thrill that comes with the possibility of someone walking in on them. He's so hungry for attention that he would welcome a scandal with open arms. He thrives off of his subjects speaking his name, either to praise him or to reproach him. Unlike Valerius, he doesn't jump at every sound, no, instead he chuckles against his lips and kisses him more. Two, three times before he can be persuaded to step back.

"If we really want to do this," Valerius pants, still trying to catch his breath. "We should do it properly."

A mischievous smirk lights up Lucio's features. "Of course. I always forget how picky you are when it comes to our private affairs."

Valerius huffs in indignation but doesn't reply. Thankfully, neither does Lucio, who opts for restoring his hold on his wrists - tighter, more firm than before - and leading him up a tall staircase. The Count's prized hunting dogs jump down from the bed, startled, when they finally throw the bedroom door open. Lucio shoos them away with a sharp whistle, then closes the door, making sure they remain on the other side of the threshold.

There's a pause, then. The two of them looking at each other, no more than a few feet apart yet not daring to close the short distance. The air between them is charged with tension. For once, Valerius feels bold enough to break the silence first.

"Come here," he says, beckoning him towards him and at the same time towards the bed. Lucio is more than eager to comply.

With that, they're back in each other's arms. Lucio's hands are quick at work to remove his clothes, fumbling with the layers of his robes, all the while his mouth traces a path of small bites and kisses along the line of his throat. More than once Valerius is forced to bite back a moan of appreciation.

Undressing Lucio takes longer. He has dressed himself in all of his fineries, fur-lined cloak included, to have himself admired and looked at by the entire household as he graced his foreign guests with his presence. There are too many buttons undo, too many clasps to unbuckle, to the point that even Valerius, who has always prided himself for his patience and control over himself, ends up just shoving the offending fabric out of the way. Lucio laughs and pulls him closer, until they both fall down on the bed.

With his back flat on the mattress, surrounded by more of ridiculously expensive pillows than he can count, he's finally ready to surrender. Lucio kneels above him, eyes gleaming just as much as his golden arm under the light of the candles illuminating the room. Lucio is not that much younger than him and still Valerius is always left amazed by of how restless and eager to please he gets when he has him right where he wants him. He's all over him in a matter of seconds, no time to think or even to breathe.

There is nothing he doesn't like of the way Lucio takes him and allows himself to be taken in return. Nothing he won't be willing to do again and again, ignoring the voice of reason that curses him and his lack of restraint from somewhere in the back of his mind.

When it's all over, Lucio stretches on the mattress like a lazy cat and comes to rest his head on Valerius' lap. Where Valerius has at least made an effort to redress himself, Lucio has hardly bothered at all - his trousers and shirt still hang open and unbuttoned.

He absentmindedly runs a hand through his damp hair as he shuffles the pages of the book he has found on the bedside table. "Have you read this?"

"Not really," Lucio admits. "It's Nadia's."

Valerius had almost forgotten about it, how they've just lain together in the bed he shares with his wife. The reminder in Lucio's words makes him feel somewhat uneasy, embarrassment blooming in his chest at the thought. He wills it away, concentrating on the pages instead. It's an interesting novel, and he makes a mental note to compliment the Countess on her literary tastes next time he stumbles upon her.

"Can you ask her if I can borrow it, when she's done with it? I would very much like to know how it ends. I'm intrigued."

Lucio hums in affirmation.

The candles have almost burnt out completely, casting shadows on the walls of the bedroom and leaving them to bask in the half-darkness. Valerius knows he'll have to go soon, but his tired limbs protest at the idea of leaving the bed and going back to his duty as the city's loyal Consul. Even looking for a mirror in the Count's private bathroom and fixing his braid to have himself look presentable seems like an impossible feat.

As if reading his thoughts, Lucio looks up at him. "Will you stay a little longer?"

Valerius opens his mouth to say that he really shouldn't, but for the life of him he can't summon the right words to do it. Lucio, of course, takes advantage of his hesitation.

"Please," he insists. "Indulge me."

Yet again, Valerius finds himself unable to say no.


End file.
